


The Only Sensible Way to Love

by DelektorskiChick



Series: Pushing the Limit [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Plug, BDSM, Bondage, Choking, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Post To Another Site, Electric stimulation, F/M, Gunplay, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love Confessions, Smut, Sounding, Whipping, description of abuse, electroshock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelektorskiChick/pseuds/DelektorskiChick
Summary: Taking place immediately after the events of the previous story, Natasha uses Clint to work through what happened to her on the previous mission.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Pushing the Limit [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/280272
Kudos: 14





	The Only Sensible Way to Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaeWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeWitch/gifts).



> *waves* I'm not even making excuses anymore; enjoy my friends.
> 
> Title from a quote by Francoise Sagan;  
> "I have loved to the point of madness; That which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love."

The bedroom was warm, dark, and smelled like Natasha. Clint stripped off his robe and fell face first onto the mattress, careful of his bruised ass and the plug inside of it. He felt the bed dip under Natasha’s weight, already half asleep. She pushed him over onto his side, crawling into the circle of his arms. She set her back to his chest as she pulled the sheet up over them.

Clint burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, and -surrounded by Natasha, both inside and out- he slept for the first time since her failed check in, two days earlier.

*

Clint slept deeply; deep as he never did anywhere else, not even in his own rooms. So deep, in point of fact, that he didn’t completely wake until after Natasha had already locked his wrists and ankles into the cuffs at the four corners of the bed and she sat straddling his chest.

He moved his hips and felt her plug shift in his ass.

The only light in the room came from what little filtered in around the blackout curtains. It made Natasha glow in the dim room.

Clint watched her, feeling her bare cunt slide slowly down his abdomen, the waxed-smooth skin slipping wetly down the trail of hair below his navel. She rested her full weight on him, just above his cock, then bent over him, long curls falling to frame his head. She pushed her core down, driving the plug up and into his prostate.

Natasha cupped his face as he moaned, then kissed him, her tongue fucking in and out of his mouth in time to her rise and fall. She bit his bottom lip nearly hard enough to draw blood before pulling back with it and letting it snap back to his mouth.

He felt his morning wood rise completely against the cleft of her ass.

She cradled his face, kissing him, doing nothing but rising up and down in the tiniest of movements. She took her right hand from his face, the left moving to grip his chin in a harder kiss, and she raked her nails down his chest, catching his nipple on the way. Natasha swallowed the whine he made.

She kept moving, pushing up and down a little bit harder on his pelvic area, forcing Clint to feel her plug in his ass. She was still devouring his mouth, but now she clenched her hand tight on his jaw as her right dug nails into his chest, his sides, scraping and scratching him, leaving red hot trails dotted with blood in their wake.

Clint’s heart broke for her. She usually only got this _intimately_ nasty when-

“Sorry I was late, love. I was being _interrogated_.”

Clint didn’t say a word. She’d tell him if or when she wanted him to speak. Until then, he’d let her use him however she desired.

She was his world.

Natasha let go of his jaw with one more bite to his lip, then sat back and up on her knees. One hand braced lightly on his abs for balance, she used the other to guide him inside her without breaking eye contact. Clint felt his eyes cross and he stifled a moan as she sheathed him in her tight, wet heat. Natasha’s gaze finally broke as her head fell back with a gasp that he thought might be tinged with a little pain, but it morphed into a moan as he stretched her.

Once fully seated and accustomed to his size, Natasha opened her eyes to slits and slowly began thrusting her hips again.

“Why does every _male_ think that he’s the first to come up with that technique? Thinking that rape will make the Black Widow talk?” She stretched her arms lazily above her head, movements long and languid. Then she tipped forward, hands landing hard on either side of Clint’s chest, the look in her eye and the snap of her hips going feral.

“It doesn’t work. It just _pisses-_ ” -thrust- “- _me-_ ” -thrust- “- _off_.” She clenched down at the same time she bit down into his pectoral.

Clint’s head snapped back, a gasp tangling up in his throat, and his hips thrust up involuntarily. He smothered a shout as a burning line of pain seared across his thigh. He looked up, watching a riding crop seemingly appear in Natasha’s hand.

Clint whimpered.

Natasha laughed low in her chest.

“Oh, not to worry my little pain-slut. I have _plans_ , and they include you having a functioning cock.” Fast as a striking cobra, she switched hands and drew a matching line of fire down his other thigh.

This time his gasp was stopped by her hand on his throat, cutting his air off. Clint didn’t panic. Natasha knew his limits better than he did. She wouldn’t do him any permanent damage. He did his best to project the trust he had to her.

She released him as his vision started spotting, letting him inhale. It made his dick twitch inside of her. Natasha gave that low laugh again, picking up a bullet vibe from the bed next to Clint and switching it on. She stiffened as she placed it directly on her clit, inhaling sharply, then proceeded to use his cock like she would a dildo, turning Clint into an object she was using to get herself off, nothing more.

She came rapidly, going still, her cunt pulsing around him.

Clint bit the inside of his cheek to keep from coming; she hadn’t told him that he could, yet.

Thankfully, after a few ragged breaths, she climbed off of him, letting his penis fall. She immediately crawled up his body, bracing her hands on the headboard of the bed and lowering her dripping snatch to his waiting mouth.

Clint clenched useless fists, wanting to touch her, but he knew that she needed this. She’d been forced to play helpless during her assignment, and killing the ones who’d done it to her only went so far. She needed to take that power back, and if submitting to her least whim helped her, then that’s what Clint would do.

He stiffened his tongue, giving her something to ride. Clint felt her eyes on him and he glanced up in the dim light, watching her watch him. He closed his eyes from the intensity of that gaze, then went to town, tickling her clit with his teeth and licking as deep into her as he could. He was rewarded with her grinding down on his face with a groan.

The crop came down on his ribs, forcing Clint to strangle a yelp.

“Told you I’d ride you till you dropped, slut. Giddyup.”

Clint redoubled his efforts, and he was rewarded with a groan from Natasha. He glanced up the planes of her abs just in time to see her head fall back, the ends of her hair tickling his chest. He wanted desperately to be able to touch her, reach up and knead her breasts, but the straps wouldn’t let him. Clint clenched his fists in frustration, which caused him to clench other things as well; his ass protested vehemently. Clint groaned.

Natasha brought the crop down again, and harder this time. It turned his groan into a hiss.

“Make me come again, whore, and I may let you come too.”

He did his level best, but without Clint’s hands to help her along, Natasha still wound up having to use her vibrator again. Which meant that, once she’d caught her breath, Nat pulled out the sounding rods.

Clint tried to cover himself with his thigh, but she’d anticipated this -which told Clint she’d planned to do this all along- and strapped him down tightly enough that he couldn’t get away from her. Natasha pinched the swollen head of his cock almost delicately, opening him up for the syringe of lube. It _burned_ as it forced its way in; Clint choked on a whimper.

She looked up at him sharply. “You may make noise, but don’t speak until you’re ready to beg.”

He let out a moan as the smallest rod slid inside of him, the metal bead at the tip scraping the sides of his urethra, feeling like it was turning him inside out.

Natasha lifted the rod several times, allowing it to fall back inside him at its own pace, and watched Clint whimper and try not to squirm. Then, with a mean little jerk, she yanked the rod out of his cock, making him wheeze. She immediately slid the next size in, and sweat broke out on Clint’s forehead. His head rocketed up as Nat played with this one, spinning it slightly. She looked him dead in the eye as she popped this one out, barely allowing him a breath before forcing the next size in.

They’d done sounding rods before, with plenty of time for Clint to adjust between sizes, and it had been painfully wonderful. Now it was just painful. The inside of his penis felt raw and scraped, even with lube.

“Tasha-” she cut him off with a punishing squeeze of his balls.

“I still have five more sizes of sounds. Don’t tell me that you’re ready to cave _now_?”

When Clint’s eyes could focus again, he met her steady gaze. She was beginning to calm down, a bit. The anger was still there, simmering behind her eyes, but cool, iron control was starting to seep back in.

“Just one more, please волчица?” he choked out.

“You’ll take two.”

He relaxed a tad and sighed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Clint started at the merciless little laugh that phrase pulled from her.

“I didn’t say _which_ two, slut.”

He flailed against his restraints as Natasha pulled out the two largest rods in the set.

“Tasha, Tasha please, don’t-”

“Don’t what?” She forced the bead at the tip of the slightly smaller sounding rod into his penis. Sweat broke out all over his body and Clint nearly bit through his lip to keep from screaming. But as much as this hurt, as awful as the situation that had led Natasha nearly to her breaking point had been, the pain had him the closest to one of the best orgasms he’d ever had in his life.

Oh, yeah, if he ever needed confirmation that he was a masochist, shit like this told him everything he needed to know.

Natasha kept forcing the rod deeper into him, pushing it faster -much faster- than Clint would have preferred. “Don’t do something you don’t want me to? Don’t keep shoving things into you that you don’t want? Beyond what you know your limit is?”

She yanked the sound out, and Clint’s vision went white. He managed not to come, even though the pain hurt _so_ good. Natasha didn’t even let him catch his breath before sliding the largest sound into him. Clint watched in panting, morbid fascination, and he swore to himself that he could _see_ the bead at the end stretch and distort his cock as it worked its way down. Once the handle at the base of the rod touched his head, Clint fell back, gulping in lungfuls of air. He relaxed his fists and arms, letting the tension drain out of himself.

He’d done it. She’d gotten it out of her system. Now all he had to do was survive Nat taking out the rod without losing his precarious control over his orgasm, and-

Why was she playing with his balls?

He raised his head again, looking at Natasha. He saw his cock first, an angry, swollen purple-red, leaking around the base of the rod. The rod that now had two leads attached to it.

As she applied the sticky pads to opposite sides of his sack, Clint sucked in a hard breath.

“No no no, ‘Tash, no-”

He keened high in his chest as electricity snapped like a giant rubber band against cock and balls. Every single muscle in his body tightened nearly instantaneously.

He started crying when Nat shut the current off, snot sliding down the sides of his face and tears running past his ears.

“I don’t know how long they did that to me, after the first series of rapes.” Her words filtered softly through the white noise that was currently Clint’s brain. “After forcing me open with anything they could find. But I’m only going to do it to you twice more.”

Clint just nodded as he sobbed.

God, he’d do anything for this woman, even throwing himself on the grenade of her rage if it meant that it made her feel the least bit better.

The second shock was shorter, barely making his breath stutter for more than a second. The third-

The third shock felt like it would never end.

By the time Clint was even partially cognizant, Natasha had wiped his face down and was pulling the largest sound free from his cock. It _burned_.

Then she straddled his hips and sheathed him, hiding his stretched and swollen member from sight. She was slick as she’d ever been. He pulsed inside her, once, but Clint bit the inside of his cheek until he drew blood. He was _not_ going to come without her say-so. Not now. She needed his obedience, and Clint would give it to her if it killed him.

She squeezed him as she began a slow rise and fall of her hips that made him moan. Natasha didn’t speed up, was just enjoying using him again. The sun was fully up now, leaking more light around the curtains, and now Clint could look, _really_ look at her, and he could see the marks she’d acquired over the last two days.

No wonder she’d been so nasty. If he wasn’t so absolutely sure that Natasha had killed every single person who’d touched her, he’d have gone out and done it himself.

“They thought they’d broken me.” Her voice was low, barely audible over the creak of the mattress as she continued her slow strokes. “They thought I’d fled into my own mind. They’d gotten their hands on some research for the Black Widow program, you see. They thought I was in my safe box. That I was completely and utterly unaware of the world outside that tiny little space programed into my brain so that I could self-destruct if I needed to. So I just lay there, not fighting, as they released my arms and legs.”

In so saying, she reached behind her and unclipped the straps from the leather cuffs around Clint’s ankles, then bent upwards and did the same for his wrists, leaving her hands on the bed on either side of his chest. He didn’t move; he barely breathed.

“What they didn’t know is that the mind box was only used at the beginning of the Widow program. The trainees kept using it to slip into comas that they couldn’t be woken from. The Red Room-” Clint wouldn’t have detected her shiver as the words crossed her lips if they hadn’t been so intimately joined. “The Red Room deleted that from the programming very early on. And they didn’t begin my training until much, _much_ later.” She squeezed him hard on the penultimate word.

“They weren’t even trying to get anything out of me in the end. “Just a set of holes now.”” She stopped staring at the wall above the headboard and let her eyes find Clint’s. “They were laughing, cracking beers to congratulate themselves on beating a Black Widow. Just as one of them sank into me again, I grabbed the gun he’d set to the side and-”

One of Natasha’s guns materialized in her hands, trained rock steady on the middle of Clint’s forehead as she kept up her slow rise and fall. His gaze never wavered from hers, even as she pressed the muzzle to the skin of his forehead.

She squeezed the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Empty.

“He died while still inside me, his brains blowing out onto his partners.”

The weapon fell away and Natasha relaxed completely for what Clint judged to be the first time in close to a week. He took that relaxation for the invitation it was and gently rolled them over, not pulling out in the slightest. Then he kissed every mark on her front that he could reach while Nat ran her fingers through his hair with her free hand, gun still loosely clutched in her left.

His breath ghosted across one bruised nipple, and goosebumps broke out across her breast. Clint laved at the long, shallow cut that ran from the middle of her sternum to her navel, cuffs jingling quietly as he moved, worshiping at the altar of Natasha. He kissed each finger-shaped bruise on her throat as he slowly started to speed up the pace she’d set. Clint slid his arms underneath her, cradling her to him as her hand left his hair and began scoring light lines over his shoulders and back.

The gun slid from limp fingers as her left hand joined her right.

Natasha’s heel found the base of the plug in his ass, and Clint moaned quietly into her ear as she began pushing in tandem with his thrusts. It was a dance of sorts; he pulled one hand from her back and slid it between their bodies, brushing against her clit in counterpoint to the motion of the plug. He kissed the bruise on her temple, and she bit one into his shoulder to mirror the one from earlier that night.

Finally, _finally_ -

“Tasha, Tash,” he breathed into her neck. “So close-”

“Now, Clint.” She was panting just as hard. “ _Now_. With me.”

Natasha pushed violently against the plug in his ass as she came with a moan. Clint’s orgasm _burned_ on its way out of his sore cock. His right arm and legs trembled as he tried not to collapse his full weight on her. He managed to wait until he slid out of her, soft and spent, before he fell onto the bed, rolling to rest Natasha on top of him. Her weight grounded him, kept him from dropping into a place he didn’t want to go.

Eventually she stirred, pulling her arms onto his chest and resting her chin on them.

“We should get that plug out of you, get ourselves cleaned up.”

Clint tucked one arm behind his head so he didn’t have to crane his neck to look at her. He cocked one tired eyebrow.

“You _want_ to move?”

She would have argued that the sound she made was not a snort, but it was.

“Not particularly. Note that I said should. Your ass has to be complaining. That thing’s been in there for going on ten hours now.”

Clint shrugged, petting the hair that lay nearly to her waist. “I dunno.” He clenched down on it, just to feel the burn. “I kinda like having it there. It’s a reminder.”

Natasha’s head lifted from her arms and she tipped her head to the side, a query in her eyes.

“A reminder that you _own_ me Natasha. Body and soul.” He curled briefly upwards and kissed the surprised spot between her eyebrows. “I love you, Tash. Whatever you want to do with me; hurt me, kill me, love me back, even leave me, I belong to you.”

He was not expecting tears from her, but that’s what he got. He pulled them into a mostly upright position, cradling her to him as Natasha gripped him tight and sobbed into his chest. He quietly shushed her, never stopping the hand that petted her hair.

“It was you,” were the first words of hers that he managed to make out.

“What was me, Tash?”

“What kept me going. What kept them from breaking me. I held onto you in my mind. And then I got here and did _this_ to you, and now you’re saying you love me and I-”

“You came home. You came back to me. That’s all that matters.”

Clint bussed a kiss on her forehead, stroking her back until the sobs quieted to hiccups. He pulled away slightly, just enough to get her to meet his eyes.

“I’d be honored if you’d let me wear your plug, волчица. I want a physical reminder that I’m _yours_.”

She brought her mouth to his in a kiss that stole his breath clean away.

“Then the honor is yours. But don’t forget, I’m yours too, Barton.”

Clint just smiled and made sure that she could feel him grinding his ass against the bed. “I don’t see how I possibly could.”

Natasha’s laugh, her _real_ laugh, was worth the world to him.

**Author's Note:**

> волчица – volchitsa – she-wolf or bitchwolf - what Bucky and Clint call Natasha when speaking about her to a Dominant third party, or in this case, when Clint doesn't want to use the word ma'am


End file.
